


We Go Together (Like)

by jessalae



Category: Oglaf
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I already have a job, thank you very much." "Nuh-uh. What you have is a hobby -- and an annoying one at that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Go Together (Like)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/gifts).



> Thanks to my lovely beta for all their helpful comments, and to Nary for giving me such a fun prompt. :) Happy Yuletide!

It was supposed to have been an easy job. Over the wall, up the trellis, a couple of pink smoke bombs, and into the Contessa’s bedroom without anyone the wiser. Two minutes of monologuing, a minute or two of action, then back out the way he’d came. Simple. Classic. Foolproof.

Except when he’d gotten up the top of the tower, the Contessa’s bedroom turned out to be occupied by someone who was not, in fact, the Contessa. Mistertique squinted — in a mysterious, manly way — through the clearing pink mist, trying to figure out who the hell was in the Contessa’s bed and what changes he would have to make to the plan to keep his cover intact. There were tits — wonderful, so probably a woman — flowing brown hair, and a simple white shift of the type usually worn under a ball gown. Conclusion: most likely a noblewoman here for the party who had snuck up here for a tryst with a lover who had stepped out for the moment. He could almost stick to the original plan, then, with a few minor adjustments.

“Is this a dream? A mirage? A figment of your imagination? No!” He stepped through the thickest column of smoke, hands on his hips. “This, my lady, is a visit from Mistertique!”

The woman in the bed looked at him with wide, startled eyes. “Who?”

“Ah, you have not yet heard of me.” Mistertique leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But when we’re done here, you won’t be able to resist spreading the word to all your friends.”

“My fiancé will be back in a minute—“ began the woman.

“A minute is all I require to entrance you with my masculine mysteriosity. Take a closer look.” He leapt up onto the edge of the bed, kneeling so that his leather-clad crotch was clearly in her view. “What lies within? What secrets might await? How confident must I be in my sexuality to wear these green snakeskin hot pants?”

“They are unexpectedly flattering,” the woman murmured. Her eyes began to glaze over as she started at his package, and she even levered herself up on one elbow to get a better look. Excellent.

With his usual impeccable timing, Mistertique slid back off the bed right as she began to reach out to touch. “Ah-ah-ah,” he scolded gently. “Secrets such as the ones in here are not to be divulged lightly. What do you have to trade for the insight you seek?”

The woman glanced nervously towards the door, then shrugged and smiled up at him. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,” she said, and pulled up her shift, spreading her legs wide.

Genius. He was a pro at this. Now, finish it up and move on out. He palmed another smoke bomb out the back of his hot pants. “Ah, this is truly worth something,” he said, reaching down to run a smooth finger from her clit down to her vagina. “You drive an excellent bargain—“

And then her vagina exploded, and the world was suddenly full of swirling back fluid. He sprang back, trying frantically to wipe it out of his eyes, fumbling with the smoke bomb. He had barely made it two steps when he felt a cold metal cuff clap itself around his wrist.

“Good thing I had that one on a hair trigger,” the woman said — was it still the same woman, really? Her voice was deeper than it had been a minute ago, and a lot less tentative. What in the hell…? “You’re even quicker than I thought you would be.” Someone scrubbed a cloth over Mistertique’s face, finally clearing his vision. The woman was smiling down at him, holding the end of a thick chain that was connected to the cuff on his wrist.

“My lady, I assure you, that won’t be necessary,” Mistertique said, trying to raise a suave eyebrow without letting more oily blackness drip into his eyes. “Your entrancing beauty is all I require to keep me here for as long as you wish.”

The woman rolled her eyes and struck out like a snake, snagging his other wrist and latching a cuff to it before he could palm his lockpicks out of the top of his left boot. She looped the chains through an iron ring on the bedpost, padlocked them securely, and walked out of the room without a word.

“I—“ Mistertique began as the door swung shut behind her. This was a fine predicament indeed. The cuffs fit as though they had been made especially for him — no dislocating his thumb to get out of these puppies — and the runes etched into the chains and padlock had the sinister shimmer of some very nasty binding magic. Who the hell _was_ this woman? What did she want from him?

The door opened again, and the woman walked out, now wearing a belted tunic, a short sword, and a striped scarf. Gone was the blushing noblewoman; this chick clearly meant business. Mistertique racked his brain for an appropriate come-on, but found his repertoire strangely lacking in the category of Sweet Nothings For Terrifying Women Who Kidnap You.

“I think there must be some mistake,” he wheedled. “Surely you know that I am the greatest ladies’ man in the world. These chains will not keep me from beguiling you with my exotic charms—“

“Cut the crap already, Clit Tease,” the woman said.

Fuck. Word must be spreading. This was a delicate situation indeed. “Slander! I—“

“Seriously, knock it off.” The woman drew her sword from its scabbard and a whetstone from… somewhere, and sat down on the edge of the bed to sharpen her weapon. _Skriiiitch. Skriiiitch._ Mistertique decided that remaining quiet would be a prudent course of action.

When she saw that he wasn’t going to say anything else, the woman smirked. “That’s more like it. Now, can we have a conversation like civilized adults?”

“You chained me to the bed,” Mistertique pointed out. “That doesn’t scream ‘civilized’ to me.”

The woman shrugged. “Competent adults, then. Anyway. I’m Vanka of Brogoria, master thief, and I’ve got a job for you.”

“I already have a job, thank you very much,” Mistertique sniffed. “Seducing ladies far and wide is a full-time pursuit.”

“Nuh-uh. What you have is a hobby — and an annoying one at that. Turning women on and then buggering off out the window? What are you, twelve?” Vanka shot him a withering look. Mistertique sneered back at her. “Whatever. The point is, you’re not getting paid for it, and I hate seeing talent like yours go to waste. If you come work with me, you'll get the satisfaction of being an asshole, plus a fat bag of gold to go along with it."

"I work alone. Sidekicks cramp my style."

"Sidekicks--" for a minute, Vanka's face turned very red and very terrifying. Then she snorted with laughter. "Right. Well. Think of this as a partnership, then. A partnership where we split the take 70-30, sure, but philosophically speaking we'll be equals."

"60-40," Mistertique said grudgingly.

"70-30 for the first job, 60-40 from then on if it goes well."

"What makes you think I'll stay with you for more than one job? Or are you planning to chain me up every time we finish a job?"

"I have a hunch," Vanka said, smirking. She reached down the front of her dress and produced a key, shiny and silver like the padlock. "So. Do we have a deal?"

"I suppose we do," Mistertique said grudgingly.

***

Okay, so the first job had actually started out somewhat enjoyable. He'd never been to Abbasid before, and the street magicians in the city slums had quite a few interesting tricks for sale in their shops. Mistertique snuck into the king's harem with dozens of little golden bells woven into his hair that were supposed to play an entrancing melody when he shook his head a certain way. They worked like a charm on the harem mistress and her half-dozen charges, keeping their attention squarely on him while Vanka swooped in through the window and helped herself to the contents of their jewelry boxes. A quick tease, a quicker escape into the hallway, and it seemed like the whole thing was going to end quite happily.

So of course, at exactly that moment, a pair of burly harem guards rounded the corner and spotted him.

“Halt!” The one on the left shouted, as he and his partner rushed down the hallway towards Mistertique. “Who are you? What business have you here?”

Wonderful. “Good evening, gentlemen,” Mistertique said smoothly. “I’m the new dancing instructor, of course. Weren’t you told I would be coming tonight?” The guards exchanged a suspicious look, so Mistertique raised his arms gracefully above his head and pirouetted around, spotting Vanka hiding in the rafters as he spun. He landed facing the guards, and his ponytail settled back against his body with a significant jingle of bells.

The guards eyes suddenly looked slightly glazed.

Oh, fuck.

“Seems all right to me,” said the guard on the right.

“I dunno,” said the guard on the left. “Maybe we should take him back to the barracks. You know, for a more thorough interrogation.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

Above Mistertique’s head, Vanka stifled a bout of cackling. Mistertique glared up at her, then smiled sweetly at the guards and quickly excused himself out the nearest window.

"That went horribly," he grumbled to Vanka later that evening as she calmly handed necklace after jeweled necklace to their wide-eyed fence. “The bells totally backfired. I want my money back.”

“Nuh-uh,” Vanka said, shaking her head. “Abbasid sorcerers don’t do returns. Besides, you spent what, two silver on those?”

“Two and a half!”

“Right.” Vanka turned to the fence, who handed her four fat leather pouches. She weighed each one against the others, then tossed one to Mistertique. It was so heavy he almost dropped it. “I don’t think you’re going to miss that cash.”

***

"No," Mistertique insisted. "No, no, no no no. I can't go to Upperkeep. They _know_ me there."  
"So you hit up a few of the noblewomen in town already," Vanka said, rolling her eyes. "Half of them will be summering by the lake right now."  
"I didn't hit up a few of the noblewomen in town," he responded icily. "I _paid a visit_ to _every_ noblewoman in town."  
Vanka frowned. "My sources told me you were only there for a weekend."  
“I was.” Mistertique preens a little. “It was something of a personal challenge -- wait, sources?"  
"All right," Vanka sighed, drawing a big X through Upperkeep on her map. "I'll pick up the Orb of Narthex some other time, then. On to Valcross!”

*** 

"All right, so Valcross was a bad idea. I will admit that," Vanka shouted over the roar of the waterfall. Mistertique didn't dignify her comment with a response; he was too busy trying to wrench his hands out of the ropes that bound them. He peered through the hole in the side of the barrel, only to see a mere hundred yards of river left between their oaken prison and the edge of the cliff. He yanked harder at the ropes, not entirely minding if he repeatedly elbowed Vanka in the process. Finally he managed to free his left hand, loosening the ropes enough for her to free one of hers. He checked the hole again: twenty yards to go, which meant no time to kick the top off the barrel and swim to safety. Fuck. 

"On the bright side, if we survive this, I did manage to shove the duchess's carbuncle up my pussy," Vanka said brightly. Mistertique sighed and took a deep breath as the barrel lurched sickeningly and began its downward plunge. 

*** 

"I'd just like to reiterate that this is only a trial run," Vanka hissed at Mistertique. One of the corners of her jester hat drooped into her face, and she batted it away furiously, setting the little bell jingling. "Our arrangement did not include you picking jobs." 

"Relax," Mistertique murmured, leaning back against the cushions of the sedan chair. "Everything is under control. I am entirely in my element." There was a slight rocking motion and a soft thump as the bearers set them down on the dais. 

"Doesn't your element involve speedy getaways? I don't see how you're possibly going to pull that off here." 

"Watch and learn." Mistertique swept the curtain of the sedan chair aside and stepped out to raucous applause. "Ladies, calm yourselves, please! There's plenty of Mistertique to go around." 

Vanka got out of the chair and surveyed the room. Crowd of screaming women: check. Mysterious-looking door at the back of the dais: check. Little table and big cabinet near the door: check. This setup might actually work. "We're still on 60-40, remember," she said out of the side of her mouth. "Just because you planned the job doesn't mean you get a bigger cut." Mistertique waved her back impatiently, and she took her spot at the back of the stage, sulking. 

"Now, you may be wondering: what am I doing here? Why would I choose to grace your quaint little town with my presence instead of visiting the grander cities to the west, or perhaps the richer kingdom just on the other side of the mountains? It all comes down to this: Wheatmoor has something special, something essential. Something that will allow me to fully enchant you with the mystical sense of wonder that only I can provide." He struck a pose, running one hand over his abs and flourishing his midnight-blue cloak. The women in the crowd stared openly, a few actually licking their lips. Vanka rolled her eyes. 

"If you choose to step through this door and follow me, I will lead you into another realm -- a realm of pleasure. I will awe you with my artistry, wow you with my wisdom, captivate you with my cunning linguistic skill. Imagine the most phenomenal sex you've ever dreamt of having." He paused to let them mull that over. "Now make that sex ten times more phenomenal. Now twenty times. Add a waterbed. Could that be what awaits you behind this stage?" He winked at nobody in particular, and a dozen women in the general vicinity of his gaze reached for the laces of their bodices. "There is but one way to find out." 

With that, he disappeared in a puff of dark blue smoke. The little candles Vanka had attached all around the frame of the mysterious door all flared into life at once. There was a collective gasp, then a clatter as all the ladies began to rush towards the door. Vanka braced herself, convinced she was about to be trampled. 

Another puff of smoke, and Mistertique was there again, lounging against the door frame. "One more thing," he said, pitching his voice to carry over the excited shrieks. "If you would be so kind as to leave your personal effects with my lovely assistant, here? For security reasons, you understand. She'll look after them as if they were her own." He flourished his cloak again, disappearing through the door. 

The crowd of women rounded on Vanka, taking in her little table-and-cabinet setup. She flashed them a wary smile. 

"Take a number and form a line, please--" was all she managed before she was all but buried in a pile of purses, clutches, and reticules. 

"You can enter at three minute intervals!" she shouted over the din. "If you go in too quickly, it won't work!" 

"Won't work?" a woman in an aubergine dress said incredulously. "It's a door to a back room." 

"A _mysterious_ back room," Vanka said, glaring at the woman. "Shrouded in uncertainty, filled with enigma. Such a room will not permit too many visitors at once." She wiggled her fingers in what she hoped was a mysterious way. The women didn't look impressed. "Besides, that's what His Secretiveness told me to tell you. Shouldn't you follow his instructions?" 

After that, things settled down. Vanka grumbled a few obscenities to herself as she attached a numbered piece of parchment to each bag and stowed it safely in the cabinet. She lifted the most valuable items as she worked: coins, gems, jewelry, letters of credit, the occasional little enchantment or potion. The riches piled up inside the front of her blouse as the line of excited women slowly filed into the back room. 

When the last woman finally sprinted through the door, practically vibrating with anticipation, Vanka gave a long sigh of relief. She stowed the last purse in the cabinet, shut it, then spun it around and pressed the secret latch on the back side. Mistertique somersaulted gracefully out of the hidden compartment and sprang to his feet. 

"Ta-da!" he crowed. "Well? Well? Not a bad job, huh?" 

Vanka dumped the loot from her blouse onto the little table and folded the tablecloth up into a bag. "How long is it going to take them to get out of there?" 

Mistertique shrugged. "Not more than a day, probably. At least four hours. Plenty of time for us to leave town with our haul." He skipped off towards the front door, doing a couple of cartwheels on his way out. 

"I can't say I approve of your methods, but I can’t argue with your results,” Vanka said grudgingly as they untied the horses. 

"Oh, come now," Mistertique said. "I didn't even have to lie to them. They went in there willingly, intrigued by my veil of mystery. It's a foolproof trick. You can't beat it for volume." 

"Why not do it more often, then?" 

Mistertique shrugged eloquently. "Infrastructure problems. Abandoned magical labyrinths don't just grow on trees, and most of them take a lot longer than three minutes to switch around their layouts.” He swung up into the saddle and spurred his horse on down the road. Vanka shook her head ruefully, grinning in spite of herself. 

*** 

“I don’t know about you,” Vanka said, looking down at the countryside passing hundreds of feet below, “but I’d say this was our best work ever.” 

“I always do my best work,” Mistertique said haughtily. “But we did do an extra best job with this one.” 

“That thing with the rose petals and the wind-up toy mouse was inspired.” 

“Ah, but it paled in comparison to your move with the ice sculpture and the Duke’s left shoe. How did you pull that off, by the way?" 

“Two parts honey to one part lamp oil. It makes a much stronger adhesive than you’d think it would.” 

The wind picked up, and Vanka adjusted her grip on the reins. Her mount banked, turning smoothly to the left to curve around the peak of a mountain; Mistertique followed right behind. 

“I do have one further question,” he called. 

“What?” 

“Where did you get two giant-eagle-sized saddles?” 

Vanka laughed. “My previous best job ever. I had to leave the eagles behind that time, though.” She stroked her mount’s feathered head. “This blows it out of the water.” 

*** 

Mistertique threw himself down on the pile of musty straw, fuming. “The _nerve_ of some people! You steal one little book of ancient sex magick from them and they treat you like you’re some sort of criminal.” 

“That is generally how it works,” Vanka said, inspecting her fingernails in the single beam of moonlight that made it past the bars on the window. 

“I’m not a criminal — I’m an artiste! I was simply endeavoring to improve my craft.” 

“And I’m sure the high priestess will be very understanding of your desire for self-betterment.” 

“She’d better be!” 

The cell block door creaked open. “Oi, mask boy,” said the guard. “You’re free to go.” He marched over and unlocked Mistertique’s cell. 

“Finally,” Mistertique huffed, then squinted at the guard. “Wait, just me? Not my partner?” 

“Just you.” 

“Well, I—“ Mistertique spluttered. 

“Hey,” Vanka said. “Just go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be out of here in no time — seriously, have you seen these locks? Breaking out of here will be like taking candy from a baby.” The guard looked disconcerted. 

“But—“ 

“Anyway, your reputation as a thief has started to surpass your reputation as the world’s most frustrating ladies’ man,” Vanka continued. “I don’t think you want that to happen. Take a break from thievery. Go back to your roots. You have more than enough to finance your little hobby, now.” 

“True, but—“ 

“Go,” Vanka ordered. “I’ll see you around.” 

Mistertique stepped out of the cell and followed the guard down the dungeon hallway, peering back over his shoulder at Vanka’s smirking face. They soon reached the main entryway of the castle and headed for the ornate mahogany doors. 

“Ooh, mister guardy-guard!” said a high-pitched voice from the shadows. “Help me! Help!” 

The guard stopped, peering towards the voice. “Who’s there?” 

“A lovely maiden! Ruffians have broken into the castle and stolen my clothing! I am without a stitch to wear!” 

The guard perked up considerably, and Mistertique used the opportunity to duck behind a pillar and begin shimmying up a tapestry to the second floor. 

“Do hurry, mister guard!” he squeaked, throwing his voice to a different patch of shadows this time. “My tits are so very cold! I need something to warm them up!” He swung himself onto the second-floor balcony. “Your hands will do quite nicely!” Down below, he saw the guard sidling his way toward the shadows. He smirked and dashed off towards the stairs. This ought to be the way to the western tower, and her excellency’s bedchamber. The standard monologue, a few minutes of teasing, then a quick hop up to the roof and out through the stables. Simple. Classic. Foolproof. 

And maybe, while he was in there, he’d pick up a few little things. The key to the dungeons, for instance. 


End file.
